For anyone reading this who has not read “The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen”, ESTEL is Aragorn’s earlier name while he was growing up in Rivendell; a name which Arwen personally calls him by.
The leaves were long, the grass was green,
birches of Rivendell tall and fair
and in the woods a light was seen
as day and nightfall were mingling.
Undomiel was passing there, on greensward
under the birches white,
the summer evening was her hair,
on her brow a gem like star’s last light.
There Estel came: son of kings old,
and heir to mortal realms East of Sea.
Where silver Elven river rolled,
he wandered joyous with clear singing.
But when he peered through birches’ leaves,
he saw in wonder silver stars
upon her mantle and her sleeves,
and her hair like nightshade following.
He burst through leaves and swiftly came,
He called her by the Elvish name
of one who died for mortal love.
And like that Elven maid of old,
Undomiel halted listening
and mortal’s shadow and doom’s cold
were in his eyes glistening.
Though Estel loved the maiden fair,
tasks of a king bore him far away,
through empty nights and grey lands bare,
he went alone and sorrowing.
Yet still he thought of Undomiel,
and the night they met under birches’ leaves.
Her eyes were like the Star Kindler’s well,
and her face with Elven light shimmering.
In Golden Wood- Lothlorien,
Estel came clad in a Lord’s array,
and saw his Elven maid again
and all doubts were suddenly dashed away.
A mortal life chose Undomiel
though her kin would follow the Sundering Sea,
she made her troth upon a hill,
Elanor and Niphredil flowering.
Once more they parted in doom’s hour
with sword to forge, dead road to take,
in shadow of the darkest pow’r
their troths of love could not break.
Soon Man and Maid met again
in city white, in hope’s wake,
they lived in grace’s bliss then,
and sang by fountains bubbling.
Time’s countless days and long years sighed
and wore through birches and marble stone,
weary of age Lord Estel died,
the fair Undomiel left alone.
She passed through woods of Lothlorien,
trees grey and bare of their golden leaves,
she longed to find her love again,
and pass under birches singing.
Then grace’s last breath fell
and sighed upon the branches grey
from lips of fair Undomiel,
on flowering hill she passed away.
Though cold and sure death’s winds blow,
the troths of love it can’t dispell,
Elanor and Niphredil still grow,
and lovers sing sorrowless.